I wrote this as an assignment for English class, but decided that it was good enough to share with the world. Here's to the memoir-readers, the little sisters, the big brothers, and the hockey lovers.
My brother and I are eight years apart, so our relationship has always been distant. There are times from my childhood that I remember him being “big-brotherish.” I mean that in the best way possible. One time, we were going to a Hershey Bears hockey game and he stuck a ball cap on my head. I don’t remember why he randomly gave me his hat, but I didn’t argue, and took it as a way of him telling me, “You’re alright, kid.” I lost that assumption, however, when he tried to take it back.
Joey was always particular about his hats. He never let any other guy wear a hat of his. Perhaps this was something he picked up from playing hockey for so many years. I was always at his games, watching him shoot and miss the goal for various teams. Besides hockey, arguing was the only thing he and I bonded over. Most of our arguments arose from me going into his bedroom, which was conveniently across the hall from mine. He had our dad put a lock on his bedroom door, with a key that was always “hidden” above the doorframe. Even after the lock was installed, I was smart enough to drag the chair from my mother’s vanity and get the key from above the door while standing on my tiptoes. My entrances were always during the school day, since he was in seventh grade when I was four. I would take anything from Hot Wheels to hockey programs, I even took his class ring at one point. No matter what I would take, he obviously always found out eventually; this always followed with some sort of him telling me how I was wrong. Since he always told me not to take anything of his, why would I let him have something of mine?
When I was around six or seven, while my family was getting ready to go to a Hershey Bears game, Joey gave me a maroon Hershey Bears hat. I wore it from the moment he gave it to me until he tried to take it away. I know that there’s no way he could have foreseen the opportunity to steal it back from me in the way he’d tried to. However, I was still shocked by the fact that he would even think to try to take something of mine from me, especially since he always told me not to do so with his own stuff.
During the game, someone managed to score a hat trick. In hockey, it’s customary to throw your hats onto the ice after this rare occurrence. The fans are saying “hats off” to the player. Joey, who didn’t have a hat of his own to throw, tried to take my hat to throw it among the shower of hats that were on their way to the ice. After a tantrum, which consisted of crying and a firm but whiny “NOOOO!”, he understood that that wasn’t the best move.
I’m sure I would have been more open-minded to participating in such a rare event had I not been so focused on my brother’s momentary double standard. I’ve been to many a Bears game and haven’t had the opportunity to toss my hat since that night. Joey, I suppose, had always felt more obligated to be a “parental” figure than a brotherly one. He was often stuck watching me and driving me to and from places when he would have rather been with friends. However, I doubt reprimanding me for my mistakes and passing down cool treasures like the hat to me were on his “Joey-Do” list from Mom. I learned later on that sometimes, it's better for a sibling to do these things than a parent. Maybe that’s why he turned to hockey; it was a way for him to not only just be a kid, but also to steal back some of the attention I got from Mom and Dad. I wasn’t sure why he gave me the hat. I’ve devised many theories; none of them ever seemed reasonable, though. Maybe he'd thought I needed some fan gear to wear to games. Or perhaps it simply didn’t fit him anymore. Maybe he was just trying to be a good brother. I’ve always liked the last theory best, even if it wasn't right. I've worn it to every game I’ve gone to since that day, even when Joey wasn’t there. Because whenever I wear it, I feel like he is there.
